


Mischief Below Barts

by Corvicula1979



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Gen, Loki Does What He Wants, POV Sherlock Holmes, atheist Sherlock, i love these two, suggestion of one sided Loki/Sherlock, what happened when Sherlock fell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvicula1979/pseuds/Corvicula1979
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my fan theory of how Sherlock escaped death in The Reichenbach Fall. </p><p>Loki in this is very much a synthesis of mythology and the Marvel characterization.</p><p>This is the first fanfiction I've published EVER. Comments and critique are welcome, but please be gentle... :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mischief Below Barts

**Author's Note:**

> I should acknowledge the potential influence of another work which has the same basic set-up; the same idea occurred to me independently before I read it, but I read it before writing my fic, so it could have influenced me <https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8531534/1/Catch-me-when-I-fall>
> 
> Then I watched "The Empty Hearse" and (spoiler warning) ... that bit at the end where Sherlock manipulated John into talking about his feelings ... pure mischief. And I knew I had the right idea.
> 
> Usual disclaimer, these guys don't belong to me. They belong to Marvel and BBC. I just play with them.

Mischief Below Barts  
  
    When Sherlock dropped from the roof of Barts, he fully expected to die. A few heartbeats of falling, an agonizing, bone-breaking impact, oblivion to follow – he hoped – swiftly.  
    It was not what he had planned, nor what he would have wished. But when Moriarty took his own life, he had – not outwitted him, never that – but trapped him in a corner. Sherlock had weighed his own life against that of his friends, and his choice, however unfortunate, was clear.  
    Sherlock fully expected to die, but after the plummeting seconds, he did not shatter on pavement. Instead he was caught in strong arms, and the one who caught him stumbled slightly – but far less than they should have, considering the calculated force of his impact. Before Sherlock could completely shake off the disorientation of his unintended survival, he felt an unexpected sensation of freefall, just for a split second. He opened his eyes not on the environs of Barts, but on tamed greenery - a secluded corner of Hyde Park – and the face of an unfamiliar man peering down at him.  
    His first, panicked thought was of the ones he meant to save. “No – you can't!” he exclaimed, his customary eloquence gone, “they'll all be killed!”  
    “Be calm,” said the stranger. “They will find a body; fortunately, it will not be you. I find faking one's own death to be generally preferable to actually dying, do you not agree?”  
    It was only then, with his most immediate concern allayed, that it occurred to Sherlock that the stranger still held him in a bridal carry, like an improbably gangly and male damsel from a romance novel cover. Also, he noticed that his self-appointed rescuer, no taller or more muscular than Sherlock himself, was holding him with no more effort than it would take to carry a child.  
    “Who are you,” asked Sherlock, “Why did you catch me, and would you put me down?”  
    “For the first, see if you can deduce that yourself. The second I will explain in due time. As for the last – no, I don't believe I shall.”  
    Sherlock studied the man holding him. Frustratingly, there were few clues to guide him. The man spoke impeccable RP. He wore a trench coat over a suit, appropriate to the London professional classes. The clothes were of high quality, well tailored but not ostentatious. The man wore his black hair long and loose, which was unusual but not unheard of in that social class. What was truly puzzling was the lack of any of the traces one could usually see on clothing; there were no loose threads, no wet spots, no residue of mud or dust or anything else. It was as if the suit had been created only minutes before, which was an exceedingly unlikely conclusion. Moreover, as Sherlock had already noticed, the man was stronger than he should have been. He even smelled wrong.  
    “You aren't from around here,” Sherlock said, and the stranger gave him just the smallest of smiles, a smirk really. “It flies in the face of everything I know of the universe, but you are not human. Beyond that, I am ashamed to say that I am baffled.”  
    “You lack the information required to deduce any more than that. I must therefore offer you a hint. I have been called many things, Slanderer and Accuser, Firehair and Mother of Monsters.” Mother?  
    Ah, there was a key. Sherlock searched his memory palace. Norse mythology? This could only mean the one holding him was... Loki? “You aren't real. Gods and giants do not exist. You are an hallucination thrown forth by a dying brain.”  
    “I assure you I am very real, Mr. Holmes,” Loki replied in a low purr.  
    “Why would you catch me? How could my life possibly matter to you?”  
    “I have been watching you and your nemesis with some interest. I must confess I am glad that Mr. Moriarty has been removed from the picture. I would have killed him myself before now, except that the game of cat-and-mouse you were playing was most entertaining. I loathed the man, he was so very annoying. Truly, he was giving insane genius villains a bad reputation.”  
    The answer was so unexpected that Sherlock, uncharacteristically, began to laugh. All the tension and repressed emotion of the past several minutes, indeed the past several days, suddenly demanded release and his laughter turned hysterical. Loki set his suddenly squirming burden down on the ground.  
    When Sherlock had calmed, Loki added, “I am, at the moment, without plots and schemes to divert me. Watching a fine mind such as yours at work has been a most pleasant way to escape my boredom. I believe you can sympathize with that motivation.”  
    “You saved me because I amuse you?”  
    “In a word, yes. You are far too entertaining and far too pretty to die needlessly. It would be such a waste.”  
    Pretty?  
    “Are my friends safe?”  
    “I already assured you of that. I left a doppelgänger of your body at the scene. Moriarty's hired thugs will see your corpse and will leave your friends unharmed. You are a free man, officially dead. What will you do now?”  
    “Moriarty was a spider in the centre of a web. With him gone, the web still remains. I should clean it up, clear his network.”  
    “That sounds almost as if you would play the hero,” Loki said in an ironic tone. “I thought you were not one of the angels.”  
    “I'm not. I simply need to be thorough, to finish what I've started.”  
    “Do make sure to keep your exploits amusing.”  
    “You do realize that I don't exist solely for your entertainment?”  
    “Now that I've saved you, in a sense, you do. Let me offer you some advice; to achieve your goal, you will have to take advantage of your supposed death to go underground. But do let your friends know you're alive. Dr. Watson at the least should know. Don't break John's heart.”  
    “Why should you care about his heart?”  
    “I don't. But I think you do.” Sherlock didn't get a chance to respond, as Loki stepped close and added, “Until we meet again, Sherlock,” and leaned in to kiss him full on the lips, gently probing with his tongue.  
    Sherlock opened his teeth for the trickster's tongue but did not respond. After a few moments, Loki pulled away with a smug smile on his face, stepped back a few paces, and disappeared in a curtain of green and gold lights.  
    Sherlock stood in place for several moments, bemused. He took mental stock of himself. Loki's kiss had changed something. He felt ... different. Had he been aroused by it? No. There was no attraction, no desire there. But ... the capacity was there. It felt as if he had been living with walls around all his emotions, and now they were gone. And he felt a certain pleasure, rather than resignation, at the thought of the schemes he would need to devise to complete his self-appointed task. He thought to himself, although it sounded more like Loki's voice than his own, _there is mischief to be done_.  
  
    He didn't contact John before he left, although he considered it at some length. In the end he decided it would be foolish to take relationship advice from the God of Lies.


End file.
